Idiosyncrasies
by My Vantilene
Summary: Behind every running gag, every comical character quirk, every hilarious antic, there is an emotional backstory. Obviously, people don't get this messed up on their own.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Need I say more?

_Now, I made a very important marketing decision by choosing Armstrong first. Most of you are going to skip ahead because, I mean, like who cares about this big idiot taking his shirt off and sprouting comical sparkles from nowhere?_

_I care._

_I. Care._

_So, yeah. I want to save the best ones for last (some of you may note Alphonse's stray-cat-fetish is next, since I wrote and posted them at the same time), and I think that would be Roy's because it has several hints at his childhood and all that other emotional garbage fangirls such as myself love to feed off of. I consider it to take precedence over life itself. _

_I'm weird. Read. _

I: Armstrong

Alex Louis Armstrong has a comical (_scarring_) tendency to rip his shirt off, sparkle, and cry tears that need no defense to their manliness. For they are quite manly. Like seriously. Makes crying look like the bar exam for your man card. And in case you were wondering, he has seventeen man cards. But you weren't wondering that, were you? No matter. That was just to make sure there is no confusion about his masculinity in the future, because I doubt any of you have a picture of him in your hand to gape at while reading this like I do. He has a plethora of unhealthy muscles protruding from his skin that would probably have broken if it didn't have a sturdy, elastic-like quality. If you ask about it, he'll let you in on a little secret. THE CONCRETE STABILITY OF HIS SKIN HAS BEEN PASSED DOWN THROUGH THE ARMSTRONG LINE FOR GENERATIONS. But you couldn't possibly ask him about it, he's a fictitious character, after all. No idea why I even typed that.

Alex Louis Armstrong was the middle child in his house growing up. It was a bit difficult, because he wasn't the oldest, and he wasn't the youngest, so any birth right acclaimed to his parent's attention came from his last name, which the two other Armstrong's had as an added bonus. Olivier was the eldest, the strongest, the fastest, the smartest, the keenest, the bravest, and the wisest. She was a remarkable woman and warrior who had accomplished so much even when still living under the main Armstrong roof. Many of Alex's own achievements fell so short of hers, his parents overlooked him many times in favor of Olivier. Then there was the youngest Armstrong. She was the youngest — as mentioned in the previous sentence, thus rendering this one redundant — so of course she was spoiled. She wasn't good at much besides maybe the piano, but any small deed she did was seen as ending world hunger in the eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong. And Alex was left feeling invisible in his own home.

He hated that more than anything. The thought that he could die in the line of duty and the day after, it wouldn't be much different from the day before. He wanted to be someone to remember. And if his parents weren't going to respect where he drew the line at harming innocent children, then so be it. If his parents weren't going to give him the attention he was deprived of, he would find it elsewhere. And if his parents weren't going to remember him, then he would go to extreme measures to make sure everyone else did.

Even if it was as the corpulent man who could conjure up sparkles, tears, and magical, floral backgrounds on a whim, he would be **remembered**.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I explained to my dad what fanfiction was and he said we're all getting sued, even with the disclaimer. Poor, poor naïve father.

_I tried writing this in a brotherly love fashion, but my satirist insides made it a bit, well…sarcastic. Bare with me, I know this first one seems more like something from the lips of_ **Mird**,_ but it really is okay. I guess. _

II: Alphonse

Alphonse had an "adorable" (_irritating_) tendency to pick up stray cats and grant them refuge within the bowels of his hollow armor. Now while this renders Al completely and utterly irresistible to most kawaii-oriented fangirls, he doesn't do this to merit extra fics about him, quite the contrary, he wishes all of these crazed girls would stop killing him to squeeze the angst out of his older brother. It takes a low blow to his self-esteem when he lies awake at night, wondering how little he would have to mean for that to be an equivalent exchange. He realizes he doesn't care what you think. So how could that possibly be the reason?

It wasn't because they were cute. Not that they weren't, of course, Al had a certain attraction to anything with that innocuously adorable factor. No. You don't count. Send a written apology for wiping away his blood seal, sending him to war, and denying him safe passage from _that_ night, and maybe — _maybe _— he might consider you. Oh, glob, I am so plowing through the fourth wall. Where was I? Oh, pfft, yeah. It wasn't because the cats were cute. They were, but Al would let them stay where their owners had a better chance of finding them instead of stowing them away for safe keeping if it was based on looks alone.

It wasn't because of his compassion. Though, for the ones that he knew didn't have a home, he felt an empathic sadness envelope him. But still, if that was the case, he would take them, but he wouldn't dare put them in his armor. It made him feel…violated. And dirty. Like he was eating the cat. And if Ed found it, so what? Not to sound totally heartless here, but he wouldn't care all that much if it avoided a fight with him.

It wasn't because he saw those pleading eyes. He was an expert on using his own to get what he wanted out of his brother, and in mastering the art, he in return became immune to the technique. Good try, though.

It wasn't because he felt that if each and every cat was shown compassion and grace, it would prevent them from combining to form an army and enslave the human race. Where'd you even get something like that from? That's silly.

It wasn't because mail didn't come on Sundays.

It wasn't because candy stores don't give you a free Tootsiepop if you have a wrapper with three unbroken circles on it or an Indian with a star above it anymore.

It wasn't because of the Friday song. And, no, that was not permission to burst out into that song. Keep your petty High School Musical urges to yourself, you freak.

It wasn't even because Vic gave into the stupid whim of a fangirl and screamed, "Roy Mustang is dead sexy in a mini skirt!" even though I do see where one could make that assumption.

Though these are "all" (_maybe a fourth, and that's when I'm being generous_) terrific guesses, they are wrong and don't make any motion to underlie a greater truth.

When their mother was still alive and breathing air in this world, Edward had one day come into the house with a cat. It wasn't even a cute cat. It had inexplicable stains in its matted orange fur that were potently reminiscent of an ink spill. Its swamp-green eyes were lazy and diluted, one pupil dilated far greater than the other one. And yet, Ed clung to it as if it were a priceless diamond as he explained the epic (_fabricated_) tale of how he rescued (_ran into_) the cat. Which was kinda stupid, 'cause, like, I mean, it was an ugly cat. And ugly cats don't deserve to be rescued (_encountered_) at all. They're not cute, so why should anyone care? But for some reason unfathomable by those kawaii-oriented fangirls I mentioned earlier, Ed took the cat in. His mother took one look at it and told Ed to put it back outside. Edward refused. His mother insisted. They went on like that for several minutes, unaware they had an audience of one peering in though the crack on the door they thought was closed. Ed begrudgingly put it back outside eventually, because she was his mother, and Mother was always right. Little did he know, Alphonse picked up on this, and when their mother was gone, and Ed's innocence along with it, he started to pick up that role of taking in the stray cat. And Ed picked up his mom's role of making him put it back. It was their own little way of saying that nothing was going to change — nothing had changed. Even if Ed was going to have to be the older brother, mother, and father all rolled into one, they were going to make this work. It was their only semblance of comfort. Al picked up a cat, even when it was clearly belonging to someone, just so that Ed would tell him no. Just so that they could argue, just so they could have a little piece of their old life amidst the chaos.

_REVIEW OR BE FRICKING INCINERATED. O_O_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: HAHAHAHAHA. THIS IS SUCH A FUNNY JOKE. HAHAHAHA. LET'S KEEP THIS GOING. HAHAHAHA.

_Useless internet cookies to whoever gets the reference above._

_Yeah, um, I'm back, sycophants. _

_Still trying to not be a satirist. _

_Still failing._

III: Maes Hughes

Maes Hughes had a terrifying tendency to drone on and on about his wife and daughter. It was actually an admirable tendency, if you noted how long he doesn't need to breathe when he rants. But no one ever does, so let's leave it at terrifying. He can go countless hours on the phone just talking about how his wife and daughter have the same shimmering emerald eyes, as if genetics was a subject of rarity. Most of the time, it will earn him a strange glance, a shout of rebuke, or harsh physical contact. But once upon a time, someone actually kept their sanity in response to his continuous ramblings.

It was the Ishbalan War of Extermination when Maes Hughes was reunited with his best friend from the military academy, from back when they had both been green bean cadets. He noticed Roy had changed, the nights of toiling homicide he inflicted upon innocent civilians dwindled his emotional stability to that of a mere five-year-old, when they were in the middle of enemy territory, inches from losing their lives. Mustang kept insisting that he could die, that she should die, that he would die. After everything he'd done to these people, wasn't it pure, unadulterated justice that they were the ones to finally end his heinous existence? He felt as if he was standing in the way of destiny, cowering under the ruins of a temple with Hughes. He made a move to leave his shelter, to embrace providence with outstretched arms and a rueful smile, but Maes held his arm firmly, and yanked him back when he attempted to rise. Hughes desperately inquired if there was anything he could do to keep Roy with him. Mustang requested that he tell him about his girlfriend waiting impatiently at home. To tell him there were people at home who counted on them, and then, and only then, would he steel his resolve to move onward. Hughes began ranting nervously, tripping over words as he made certain not to say the wrong thing to his friend who was so fragile at the moment, and could splinter if he gave him a semblance of a reason. So he went on discursively, trying his best to keep the Major with him. While it may have sounded asinine to anyone else who may have eavesdropped, the quick and trembling words acted as a contrivance to keep the Flame Alchemist alive. Alive and sane. And that's all Hughes wanted.

Maes Hughes has a tendency to drone on and one about his wife and daughter.

Maes Hughes has a tendency to touch those around them, guide them when they think everything's over, and see them through to the other side.

REVIEW. O_O


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